


Animal

by questionsleftunanswered



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:43:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionsleftunanswered/pseuds/questionsleftunanswered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You have two options. Shut the fuck up and get in this bed or sleep on the sofa. Both of which involve turning off the damn light this second."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Animal

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [animal 野兽](https://archiveofourown.org/works/911382) by [VERA_SHERLOCKED](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VERA_SHERLOCKED/pseuds/VERA_SHERLOCKED)



> This is unbeta'd. I just needed to write something tonight. It was that kind of mood. And this happened.

Sherlock Holmes was a genius. No one knew this more than the man himself. And nearly every person he encountered.

There was something about the frailty of genius and the necessity of that genius’s audience that Sherlock practiced to a fanatic extent. He loved to show off.

Sherlock would tell the man in the bakery that his wife was cheating on his and couldn’t he be so kind as to not let his emotions affect his work because he was mucking up Sherlock’s favourite biscuits.  He would tell the woman waiting with him at a stop light that her perfume reeked and how could she possibly think her date would find that attractive. He would tell Molly Hooper at St. Bartholomew’s morgue that her mouth was too small and why doesn’t she just do something, anything about it because the disproportions were distracting.

Sherlock was bored with the world because everything and everyone seemed to be predictable. The people followed the same track like trains. Tiny, mindless, sheep-like trains. Sherlock saw himself as a jet, flying above all of it.

Until John Watson grounded him, permanently.

***

“Sherlock, why the hell did you say that?” John scolded as he closed the door behind them.

“It was obvious and I’m bored and I could feel her worry from ten feet away,” Sherlock said in lieu of a proper explanation.

“Yes, but that still doesn’t mean you have to tell the poor girl that her boyfriend is most certainly cheating on her with her best friend and that she should just quit the relationship now. As well as her failing art classes.”

John threw his jacket into his chair and went into the kitchen to make tea. He was too flustered with Sherlock’s behaviour to offer making tea for two.

“I’ll have some,” Sherlock called to John’s back.

“Not going to happen. You want tea; you get up off your arse and make it yourself. I don’t make tea for people who make ladies cry in grocery stores.”

Sherlock huffed but remained where he was. The tea wasn’t any good unless John made it. Anything other than that had a taste indistinguishable from cardboard or plain oatmeal.

That night, John was taking up half the bed when Sherlock finally deigned to go to sleep. He pushed the door open and ignored John’s groans of protest at the sudden bright light.

“Bloody hell Sherlock, it’s three in the morning,” the still-sleepy man complained.

“Yes and I’m trying to get into bed. You’re taking up far more than your share, John. I insist you move.”

“You have two options. Shut the fuck up and get in this bed or sleep on the sofa. Both of which involve turning off the damn light this second.”

Sherlock dramatically cast his hand away from him to hit the light switch. The room was only softly lit by the lights of London around them and Sherlock stood where he was waiting for his eyes to adjust.

Sherlock went and stood by the bed, looking down on John’s pyjama clad body.

“I said you’re taking up too much space. I’m larger than you John, therefore should get a greater percentage of the bed. Splitting it sixty-forty is perfectly adequate to accommodate both of our masses.”

“I’ll accommodate your mass,” John said cheekily. The light had woken him up and he was enjoying the night light’s effect on Sherlock’s cheekbones.

“That makes no sense, John. Your body mass cannot equate my body mass under the present conditions,” Sherlock whinged.

John reached out a hand and ran his fingers along the front of Sherlock’s right thigh.

“Are you willing to split our bed fifty-fifty or are you just going to stand there and complain all night? You should be thanking me for letting you sleep in here at all. You were still unnecessarily rude this afternoon.”

Sherlock had to mentally shake himself, momentarily distracted by John’s hand on his leg. He swallowed the beginnings of arousal that bled from the heat of John’s fingertips into his skin.

“Just for tonight I shall consent to a fifty-fifty split,” Sherlock said, “under one condition.”

John continued teasing his hand against Sherlock, moving closer to his groin with each rotation but not drifting to where Sherlock wanted him to.

“What is your condition?” John inquired lightly. He knew what was coming. It was a game they had played many times before.

“You agree that you are smaller than me and therefore should really only have forty percent and that I’m just being kind giving you fifty.”

“We’ll see,” John grinned. “Come here.”

Sherlock sank down onto the bed and John finally cupped his flaccid cock through Sherlock’s pants and pyjama bottoms.

“I have a condition of my own,” John murmured against Sherlock’s ear. He traced his tongue lightly against the cartilage and exhaled hot breaths that left the skin faintly steamed.

“What is that?” Sherlock asked. He was never one for obvious questions, but John was always the exception to his well-placed rules.

John began stroking Sherlock through the layers of material, feeling Sherlock gradually harden beneath his touch.

“I want to fuck you like an animal,” John said. He smiled against Sherlock’s ear at the resulting shudder.

“Do it,” Sherlock challenged back.  He found himself flipped onto his back and all the sheets on the bed tumbling to the floor with John’s sudden movements.

John kissed him roughly, teeth clicking together and pushing his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock took it gladly and spread his legs further so that John’s could grind his erection against Sherlock’s.  

“I want you bouncing on my cock. Begging for it,” John said after he had broken away for air.

“Yes, god yes.”

John pulled his shabby white t-shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. He pulled Sherlock’s off him as well, swatting away the extra set of hands that only made it more complicated.

Bowing his head down, John laved at Sherlock’s nipple. He moved to the second only when the first was pink and hard and sensitive as hell. Leaving both in a twin state, John took a second to look at Sherlock’s face. Wide pupils and a fuck me mouth and John was rushed by a surge of _mine_.

He pulled open the top drawer of their bedside table, ignoring the loud thunk of protest as the drawer reached its full extension too quickly. John grappled with the contents for a second before feeling the cool plastic of the bottle of lubricant.

“Strip,” John ordered only belatedly realizing he was using his commanding officer tone.

Sherlock picked up on it right away. “Yes, sir.”

 Once naked, Sherlock grinned cheekily at John and asked, “Should I assume the position?”

Rather than respond, John flipped Sherlock over and pulled his hips up on he was forced onto all fours. He let the bottle of lube rest between Sherlock’s knees to keep track of it. John grabbed a half of Sherlock’s arse in each hand and pulled the apart. He leaned forward and gently licked at Sherlock’s rim.

Both hands held Sherlock tight as he tried to fuck himself on John’s tongue. Slowly, painfully slowly, John began to mouth him open. He shifted so he could lick two teasing strokes just behind Sherlock’s testicles.

“Fuck!” Sherlock gasped, “Get on with it.”

John slapped his hand against Sherlock’s left arse cheek, but complied nonetheless. He popped the cap on the lube and gradually eased one finger inside Sherlock. One soon became two and two soon became three until Sherlock was rocking back to John’s hand, fucking himself with increasing enthusiasm.

The John moved his hand away and Sherlock groaned at the loss of contact.

“I told you earlier, Sherlock. I want you to ride me,” John said. He was still clad in his pants and pyjama bottoms. Though both sported a wet spot from John’s leaking cock. It had previously been about Sherlock, pleasing Sherlock the way John knew he alone could. John was going to get his.

Shedding the remaining clothing, John laid back into the pillows and watched as Sherlock spread lube along his cock. Looking up at John from under his fringe, Sherlock was pleased to see a prominent flush that flowed up John’s chest. He chased it with his tongue, laving at the hollow between John’s clavicles.

He reached behind himself to grasp John’s cock. Rising up on his knees, Sherlock was appreciative of his absurdly long legs.  

Sherlock sank down on John’s cock slowly, feeling each inch stretch him like a slow burn. John’s head fell back into the pillows and his hands automatically rose to grasp at Sherlock’s hips. Sherlock was fully seated with John buried inside him. He braced hands against John’s chest and gave an experimental squeeze around John’s cock.

“Holy shit,” John moaned, “Do that again.”

Sherlock obliged and John’s reaction was enough for Sherlock to swear to do it a thousand more times if only John asked it of him.

“Move, Sherlock please just move,” John asked.

Again, Sherlock gave him what he wanted. He started slow. Rising only two inches before sinking back down, hands splayed on John’s chest. The movements became stronger, more fluid. And harder.

Sherlock was fully aware that one of John’s favourite sites was that of Sherlock losing himself above where John lay.

John began to raise his hips up, fucking into Sherlock on each down and gripping a little bit tighter on each up.

“Fuck, Sherlock I’m gonna come,” John moaned out.

“Do it, come inside me,” Sherlock encouraged, “I want it. I want you in me.”

“Fuck yes. Mine.”

Sherlock moved faster and John came inside Sherlock, his semen slicking Sherlock’s hole as the taller man gasped and shook above him.

John rolled the over again and managed by a miracle to remain inside Sherlock. He knew Sherlock couldn’t come without being touched. Not yet anyway.

So John took Sherlock’s length in hand and began jerking him. He leaned down to murmur filthy things into Sherlock’s ear.

“Come for me, Sherlock. You’re so fucking beautiful. I want it. I want your come all over my hand. I’ll lick it off. I know you love to watch me suck you off my fingers,” John said, his voice husky and promising.

Sherlock whimpered and turned his head, offering John his neck. Immediately lips found his pulse point and sucked greedily, leaving a mark enough to feel but that would fade before morning came.

“Mine. You’re mine, Sherlock,” John swore against sweat slick skin, “Mine to please and take pleasure from, mine to give and take from, mine to fuck.”

John twisted his hand and subtly tightened his grip and Sherlock came apart. Shuddering out John’s name, Sherlock kept his eyes open and locked on John as he coated his hand with come.

Making sure Sherlock was watching, John raise it to his lips and slowly licked his hand clean, groaning like the taste of Sherlock was all the sustenance he needed.  

Once they were cleaned up, John made sure he took up his full fifty percent of the bed. Sherlock curled close to his body and only managed to cover forty of his fifty percent. John pretended not to notice and Sherlock locked that information away for another night.

**Author's Note:**

> Characters property of the BBC, Moffat & Gatiss, and ACD. I also blatantly stole a lyric form the song Closer by Nine Inch Nails. I think the song goes well with this if you choose to listen to it.


End file.
